


très agréable

by guardsguards



Series: le présent, le passé et l'avenir [2]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Break Up, First Dates, I'll write him happy next time, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Prequel, Project Black Wing, University, he is happy in a good chunk of this, honestly I do like him, off-screen sex, though to be fair, why am I so mean to Dirk?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:16:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9451967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardsguards/pseuds/guardsguards
Summary: Prequel to 'L'ex-copain', wherein we get the full story of Dirk's three-week relationship at university.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for sex references. Might be a tad confusing if you haven't read the first fic in this series.

**Day 12**

“That,” Dirk said, words tacked onto the end of a contented exhale, “Was _very_ enjoyable. Très agréable. Mucho… good. I really did think the kissing would have been the best of it. After all, how could I have expected there to be more? I’m wondering now if there’s something better than raspberry jam to spread on toast that I just don’t know of yet, because I’d assumed raspberry jam to be the pinnacle-“

The man lying beside him – and looking decidedly less rumpled than Dirk did – snorted and placed a hand over Dirk’s mouth to silence him.

“Even more _agréable_ if you enjoy the afterglow, hm? Quietly,” he murmured, vowels rolling off his tongue in that uniquely French way that Dirk had never realised could be quite so appealing before. He somehow managed to shake off the hand covering his mouth while simultaneously pressing closer to the solid figure beside him.

“Why enjoy things quietly? Usually when I enjoy something, I think it rather considerate to let the whole world know. If I liked it, then perhaps they will too. Okay, well, I suppose that sentiment doesn’t apply so well in this particular scenario, but did I tell you about the secret trampolining society that I-“

The hand returned to cover Dirk’s mouth, a little more firmly this time, though Dirk persisted in trying to form words against the warm palm.

“Relax now, chéri, and then perhaps round two in a little while, hm?”

Eyes widening in unabashed anticipation, Dirk nodded.

 

**Day 3**

It was Valentine’s Day, and Dirk was soon to be in love.

Being in love would have little to do with the kisses that Camille was giving him. ‘Giving’ really was the correct verb in this case, at least for the first kiss, as Dirk had stood there completely inert for the full duration, save for the rapid ascent of his eyebrows towards his hairline.

Time stopped for no man, however, not even for a man who would have really liked a few minutes to collect himself and pretend he knew what he was doing. So the second kiss was met with a warmer – if still a little stiff – welcome, and the third was met with enthusiasm. It was a few moments after the kisses had started to explore previously uncharted territory on their way down to Dirk’s neck that Dirk wrenched himself away suddenly.

“Did you see that bicycle?” he asked.

“I wasn’t really looking at the street,” Camille replied, not bothering to disguise the slightly miffed edge to his words.

“It was yellow. It’s the same one I kept seeing before Christmas break that suddenly disappeared. Camille, don’t you see, it’s a sign! We need to follow it,” Dirk insisted, slipping away from the wall he’d been pressed up against to pursue the two-wheeled mystery.

Camille had evidently not wanted to join in, because when Dirk looked back he was gone.

Still, the night wasn’t a complete loss. As was so often the case, Dirk’s hunch about the bicycle had been right. He’d tracked it for a good hour, the bike politely slowing down anytime Dirk fell behind, until it stopped by a cattle grid far beyond the outskirts of the town.

This was where Dirk found the ducklings, two of which were held carefully against the warmth of his chest as he fished the third out from between metal bars.

He set them down after a few minutes, waved goodbye as they waddled away, and thought that loving ducks was so easy compared to loving people.

 

**Day 15**

“I told you to make friends with him, not sleep with him! For God’s sake, man, how many times has this happened?” demanded a tinny voice through the speaker of a phone.

“Four times, sir,” came the reply, in a decidedly not-very-French accent.

“Four? It shouldn’t have happened once! It happened four times and you’re only reporting it to me now?”

“Well, four and a half technically, sir. There was an incident with-“

The not-French voice was cut off.

“I don’t need to hear it. I’ll read it in your next report. I hope you know that if it weren’t for the delicate nature of this undercover work, you’d have been transferred the second I heard about this.”

“I was just taking initiative, sir.” The not-French accent had a bit of a Southern slant that was well hidden, except for in the ‘i’s.

“I know exactly what you were doing, you were trying to spice things up because you were getting bored and you knew it would be easy to get him in bed.”

“I thought it might make it easier to keep an eye on him, sir. Should I break it off with him? You see, he seems to be under the impression that we’re a couple now, sir.”

“And you’re surprised by that?”

“I suppose not, sir. I ought to go now, though, he’s due back here in five minutes.”

Twenty minutes after the phone call ended, Dirk came bursting into the small apartment with barely-contained enthusiasm, indulging in several long kisses before recounting the tale of a classmate who seemed to reside in a higher plane of existence.

If Dirk noticed the way his boyfriend’s accent slipped away as he sucked him off later that night, he didn’t mention it.

 

**Day 1**

Dirk had spent the first twenty minutes of their date recounting – in a rather flustered manner – the details of his many previous dates, in response to the innocuous comment: “You don’t do this much, do you?”

Jonathan, or rather Camille in that moment, had of course known it was all a lie. The CIA records told him as much, but more than that, Dirk was a pretty rubbish liar. Still, he had entertained the rambling speech, if only because it had given him a break from using that godforsaken French accent. If he’d known he’d end up talking to the target so much, he wouldn’t have bothered with it in the first place.

He thought the date had been a brilliant idea. By nature, Dirk seemed inclined to share information with anybody in earshot, which was useful for an undercover spy. What was less useful was that they were at university, where every day Dirk met countless new people with whom he could share his stories and insights into the workings of the universe.

Jonathan had needed a way to make sure Dirk told him everything, and he’d have been stupid if he’d missed the way Dirk’s gaze followed him a little more keenly than one’s gaze might follow a strictly-platonic acquaintance.

At the end of the date, Dirk squeezed Jonathan's hand, told him that he had nice hair, smiled brightly, and then admitted in a slightly guilty tone that he hadn’t technically been on a date before.

Later that evening, Jonathan noted down in blocky handwriting: ‘Confirmed: no previous romantic relationships.’

 

**Day 23**

It was 14:00 on a Thursday and Dirk had his _Paradox & Plurality_ tutorial. Correction: it was 14:10 on a Thursday and Dirk had just come back from his suddenly cancelled _Paradox & Plurality_ tutorial to find a man flicking through his journal, one shoulder hitched up to keep a phone cupped to his ear as he read aloud.

“We’re on my entry now, sir. Or rather, Camille’s entry,” he announced, followed by a mumbled, “God, this is sad.”

The voice was intimately familiar but it sounded so different without the accent that Dirk barely recognised it. Perhaps he just didn’t want to recognise it, just as he didn’t want to recognise the tousled hair, and the blue shirt that he’d watched Camille put on that morning.

“…nice eyes. Point four: and nice hands. Point five… Do I really have to read this whole thing? It goes on and on, it’s pathetic, sir. Right. Thank you, sir. Agent Jonathan signing off.”

Dirk should have confronted him there and then. He didn’t want Camille to see the awful flush staining his cheeks or hear the inevitable tremor in his voice, but that man wasn’t Camille. Camille didn’t even exist, and Dirk shouldn’t have cared about the opinions of the horrible, lying man who wore his face. He did, though, so he slipped away unseen.  
  


 

**Day 24**

'Tell the CIA to leave me alone' read the piece of paper taped to Dirk's door. Jonathan stared at it for a few moments, then sighed, walked away and phoned in to tell his superiors that the mission was compromised. The next day, Camille would be gone from campus without a trace, along with one unusually talkative cleaning lady and one unusually friendly teaching assistant.

The mission may have been compromised, Jonathan thought, but at least no agents were hurt.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks to all the lovely people who left comments on my last fic saying they'd be interested in reading more. 
> 
> I was initially intending to write the sequel first and I had it mostly fleshed out, but Day 15 of this came to me in a daydream and once I started writing that I just couldn't stop. So you have the (much less angsty, much more Brotzly-y) sequel to look forward to!
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. If anybody's up for some Jonathan bashing in the comments, I'll join you because I hate this horrible man that I created.


End file.
